You're Not A Toy
by Ryo-Oh-Ki Chan
Summary: 18&Trunks. Slightly OOC for Android 18? (I'll let you decide) What happens when an Android gains feelings for the person she supposedly hates most?
1. Uncover

From the first day of my exsistence, I've been taught that the human race is my target. My toy. Each weakling can be played with, like cat and mouse, and that was my source of enjoyment.  
  
So many opposed me. Forcing me to listen to their messages of truth and hope. Of how I was a monster, preying on the innocent. Preying? No...humans weren't prey. Of the numerous fighters, one caught my eye. So arrogant and full of pride, though he criticized me as his fellow warriors, I took more offense at his words...a stupid emotion...But those emotions prooved false, for he fell...like so many others. They were my favorite toys: Hard to break, but satisfying.  
  
After awhile, my brother 17 and I seemed to have destoyed them all. But that prooved false also.  
  
There were two, two who remained, pestering me. They would turn up every so often, each time angered by a new evil doing of ours. The tall one was the most annoying. His face was scarred, his hair black and short. Strong, noble, and brave. I fought against him many times, and began looking forward to our matches. His style of fighting was impressive, his speeches to me moving. But *was* I moved? No...  
  
His friend, a lavendar haired boy, often accompanied him in the fights. But he was different. His eyes, so soft, yet hard as he stared at me. Was I a moster in those eyes? A horrible being? The first time we fought, I found myself taking it easy on the boy. Mercy?...Was is mercy?  
  
He effected me like no other. His ways of fighting were no different than I had seen before, his words the same. But his insults toward me left scars, weak scars that healed in time, but they had the same effect as the arrogant ones'. Thought I beat him down time after time, laughing at his pittiful attacks, I felt something inside my mind telling me to leave him be. So I did.  
  
Finally, one day, a last fight was enough to rid me of Gohan. I had dealt him a deadly blow to one of his arms in a previous battle, giving me the advantage. He still proved a handful, even though he was short a limb. Always an impressive fight when it came to Gohan. Though the arm cost him more than he was willing to bargain--and he lost his life at my hands.  
  
The lavendar haired boy came to his limp body later that day, tears streaming from those haunting eyes. I saw the tears, heard the anguish in his voice. I hid behind a pile of rubble, spying on the boy. Half of me was cakling darkly, the other half experiencing an emotion I had never felt before. Remorse.  
  
Over the years I battled Trunks several times. Each fight he grew stronger, as did my mercy. The fights became shorter, less brutal. I started pretending to lose interest in our sparrs, and taking off before he could fix me with that stare. But I couldn't stop causing destruction, in hopes that he would turn up.   
  
And he did. He always did.  
  
His style of fighting changed, as did the effect of his words. On the days of which I was annoyed or tired, I would tease him, letting him blast energy waves while I apparated from one spot to the other.  
  
One fight I can remember all too well. After killing a round of humans, I searched impatiently for a sign of him. I didn't have to wait long.   
  
He appeard, looking the same I remembered him, and snapped a few discouraging words at me. We lunged into battle. 17 was in no mood to deal with him, making the boy flee from us. Running around corners and up the stairs. Gasping for breath, he stopped in a narrow hallway.  
  
"Peek-a-boo, I see you..." I taunted, holding up a piece of shattered mirror, his face reflected in it. He took off down the hallways, not looking back.   
  
Why do you run?  
  
After a few more blows, the boy was left panting in the ground in fear and exaustion. I stuck my foot under his chin and tipped it upward so he was looking directly at me.  
  
"Why?" he gasped, wincing in pain, as I looked back, no expression on my face. "Why do you do this?"  
  
I didn't answer. That stare. Those eyes. They were boring into me.  
  
"Why else? It's fun to see you humans writhe in pain," I sneered, and he grimmaced.  
  
"You...you have n-no feelings..."  
  
I do. But they're reserved for you, for only you...  
  
"Innocent ch-children..."  
  
I removed my foot, and his head flopped onto the ground, his body twitching in uncontrollable pain. I won't kill you.   
  
Never...you're not a toy, Trunks...  
  
You're safe with me. 


	2. Never

Well, here's the rest of the story...or maybe a part of the rest.  
  
But of course, I'd never tell Trunks anything. He'd never know. My feelings would remain burried deep within me, torture. It was torture.  
  
I sneered, and took off, leaving him on the ground. He would be back. I knew it.  
  
And he did come back. I doubt he would ever stay away.  
  
One day, he gained the advantage. I'm not sure if it was my doing, or if he was just growing stronger. When he knocked me to the floor, I was surprised to see his face so close to mine when the dust cleared.  
  
It was a tense moment. My heart beat faster, and I dared not blink. His eyes were so brilliant, their marvelous color even more hypnotyzing at an inch's distance. His warm breath fanned over my lips, his hair cascading onto my face. But I wasn't about to give in.  
  
"Go ahead. Kill me, if you can."  
  
Those eyes widened. He was surprised.  
  
"Afraid, Android?"  
  
That smirk. The arrogant fighter, his father, had a similar smirk. I didn't know why, but I loved that smirk.  
  
"No."  
  
And it was true. I wasn't afraid. If Trunks couldn't be mine, what was the purpose of living? There was no purpose...  
  
"I suppose a bucket of bolts like you couldn't have emotions."  
  
"You wouldn't know."  
  
The smirk faded. His breath quieted. Unless I was mistaken, he moved closer. I felt my body tense up, and begin to shake slightly.  
  
"It figures. Why else would you kill so many people...?"  
  
"I believe I've already adressed this issue. It's amusing to see you humans writhe in pain."  
  
"Yet you *ask* for death?"  
  
Had I asked?  
  
"If you wish to kill me, do so."  
  
I was going to leave it to him. My future. Would I have one?  
  
"Gohan...my father...everyone that meant something to me...you killed them all. I hope you understand that I can't just let that go."  
  
I understood. He would never love a monster. A horrible being.  
  
"Well? Kill me, don't talk me to death."  
  
He stood up, raising a hand as he did so. A small orb of light sparked and shone in the palm of it. As it grew brighter, I felt my body shake harder. But I still didn't blink.  
  
His eyes...they were what I wanted to see last...I would carry that image with me to hell...  
  
What's this?  
  
My eyes began to sting, my throat burned. I couldn't breathe correctly, my senses were messed up. I blinked, feeling warm, salty tears slide down my cheeks.  
  
Trunks had caused those tears. He had been right.  
  
I was afraid.  
  
The ki wave forming in his hand fadded. He was staring down at me, a look of confusion on his face. I continued my silent sobbing, letting it all go. I'm sorry for all the pain. I'm sorry for the losses. I'm sorry for all of it!  
  
"Tears? Having regrets?"  
  
I nodded slowly, not making any attempt to wipe my face free of tears. They would continue until he gathered the courage to finish me off.  
  
"Do it now! You'll regret this sooner or later!" I burst out savagely, glaring as he lowered his hand.  
  
"I won't sink down to your level."  
  
With that, he turned away from me, not uttering another word. As he began to walk away, his figure silhouetted against the horizon, I sat up. Don't go...I want to die without you...  
  
A/N: Okay, should I continue? 


	3. Time

Since many people were upset when I deleted the chapters following this one, I decided to start up again and rewrite the ending. We shall see what happens... I want to thank Kelly for urging me to finish this story! This chapter's for you, Kelly.  
  
I can't quite remember what happened after that...I must have passed out, having been exausted from the day's events. All I can recall is waking in the middle of the night, my eyes shooting open as I let out a scream of terror, my body being jolted into a sitting position. I had been having nightmares for awhile now...and I always seemed to come around just before the dream was at an end.  
  
It bothered me, being pulled out of one emotion and into another so rapidly when I woke up. I wanted to end the dream, wanted to feel relief fill my body. Dreams can't hurt you, I told myself. Stop being stupid.  
  
Shaken, I got to my feet wearily. My legs and arms hurt, my head was spinning. I looked around for 17, but discovered that I was much alone. My no account brother must have headed back for the Doctor's lab for some rest. Sighing heavily and tucking my hair behind my ears, I ignored the shaking in my legs and closed my eyes, preparing to use that oh-so-mighty-force that we android's had to get myself into the air.   
  
It was no use. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, there wasn't a strand of energy left within my battered body. I needed a bath... The mere thought of rest was inviting, but I wasn't feeling very safe, standing in the middle of no where alone.   
  
...Safe? When was the last time I had worried about being safe?  
  
All I could think about was how much it hurt. How much pain I was in... I couldn't feel my body, I had gone totally numb. Then again...what was there to feel? Tears stung the corners of my eyes and I dropped to my knees, burrying my face in my hands as I sobbed. It was wrong, it was all wrong. Trunks was nothing to me, nothing! Why was I feeling this way? Why did I feel my face go hot each time I saw him, my cheeks tinting a light pink? Why did my heart skip and beat in strange patterns? Why had I showed such weakness in front of him?  
  
But most of all...why hadn't he finished me off?   
  
"I won't sink down to your level."  
  
His voice rang through my head...I covered my ears, trying to block him out. But he just kept repeating those words over and over...over and over...  
  
I was so tired...my body was racked with sobs, and I was out of breath. I was so foolish, so stupid, so arrogant, that I hadn't noticed when I had started caring for him...  
  
My heart was his now. There was no two ways about it. I was in love with my enemy.  
  
I could remember 17 watching television in the house of a young, recently married couple. Both husband and wife had fled from the house after I had knocked their front door from it's hinges--they had escaped out the basement window; I had watched them run after chasing them down the stairs to the dark room. My brother had turned on the television to entertain himself as I went through the woman's wardrobe, looking to see if she had had any fashion sense in her pretty little head. She hadn't. As he was flipping through the channels on the annoying machine, he landed on what appeared to be a dramatic soap opera. A lot like me, I realized now, the woman who had been sobbing on the screen was in love with her family's worst enemy.  
  
I shook my head, clearing it of such nonsense. What was I thinking? Humans were foolish, living in their own little world, worrying about no one but themselves. Then again, I wasn't one to talk.  
  
The tears, I was surprised to find, had stopped. Aside from the occasional sniffle, my cheeks were dry, my eyes red and puffy. I stood once more, noticing the sun peeking out from a large pile of rubble against the horizon. It was dawn, obviously. Knowing 17 wouldn't be worried about me, I pulled my jacket tightly around myself, forgetting to try flying again. I needed more time to think--and besides, 17 wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I turned up looking like this. Slowly starting my way back to what I called home--the doctor's old cliff-side labratory, which wasn't much of a home at all--I decided it was for the best.   
  
At least, this way, I'd have time to think.  
  
A/N: To be continued... 


	4. Anything

I wanted to dedicate this chapter to Has-Bei, whose flattering review on this fiction gave me the needed encouragement to continue. Thank you, Has-Bei, I appriciate it greatly.  
  
*  
  
I couldn't face my brother like this. My clothes torn, my eyes red and scratchy, my spirit broken... He'd never let me live it down, I'd be hearing about this for the rest of my existance; he'd drill it into my head that a mere _human_ had made me cry.   
  
Androids don't cry, I could hear him saying. You're weak, 18, you're pathetic.  
  
So what? my mind retorted.  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks, appaled and stunned at the thought. 'So what?' There was no other purpose to live than to destroy. I needed to carry out Gero's orders, though the late Doctor was long gone. I couldn't really think of anything else to do--and besides, what was more fun than hearing blood curdling screams echoing through the night, the despirate cries for mercy? Seeing the light of fires buring out of control, enveloping a city in just one night, and destroying buildings and lives in an instant? Feeling my lips curl into a grin at the thought, I laughed softly to myself. All of this foolish nonsene with Trunks... It had all been a joke, my mind had been testing me. Of all the people I'd killed, not one of them had left a were still living on in my heart, I didn't give them a single thought.   
  
Perhaps that was because I knew that if I had...they would never have left me alone.   
  
I was reminded of one of the warriors I had killed. The arrogant one...what had his name been? He was Trunks' father... I couldn't place the name, though his face was swimming around in my mind. True, I hadn't known his name or his origin, but his pride moved me. I knew I could have killed him instantly, but chose to let him continue to fool himself. He had it in his mind he was more powerful than I, and I had merely added kindling to the small flame of hope. But, after finding the hope annoying, I decided to blow out the fire. His life, like his pride, was over. Pride gets you nowhere, I learned quickly. It's all about strength. So far, I had only perfected physical strength. Was Dr. Gero testing me on emotional strength, as he lie beyond the grave? The idea was laughable, but in the situation I was in at the moment, it was somewhat haunting. Suddenly expecting to see the Doctor's figure confront me, walking out of the smoke rising from a nearby building, I shuddered. Perhaps sleep was toying with my mind.  
  
As I walked through the remains of the city, I stopped as I noticed a small clothing store. Looking down at my dirty appearance, I stepped into the deserted shopping area, my eyes scanning the rubble for any signs of life. There was no one. Seeing a rack of clothing from the corner of my eye, I gave in to the one human urge that remained in me--the urge to shop, to own new things. Things that were mine and mine only. 17 could wait...  
  
*  
  
As I entered the code into the security pad just outside the Doctor's cliffside laboratory, I fingered the soft fabric of my newest find--a large, warm sweater whose length reached to my fingertips and ended just above my waist. It was a dark magenta, a color I had come to find comforting. I had managed to dig it out from the back room of the store, along with a pair of dark jeans with a slight fade to them. I had put a thin leather belt over the waist of the sweater, outlining my figure. The outfit fit me perfectly. Chuckling slightly, I reminded myself that _everything_ fit me perfectly. Gero had built me that way. The physical form of allurement, the absolute envisionment of beauty. Besides, the mere meaning of the word "android" meant "posessing human-like features."  
  
As the metalic door slid open, I ducked into the lab, looking around unconcernedly to find where my brother was. My efforts were in vain--he was either out having his midmorning fun, or in the other room, sleepily lazily with the television on. 17 had always enjoyed television--Dr. Gero had told me something about how much my brother had watched the foolish box before he had met the Doctor. I had never been curious of our pasts. Why should I have been? The past is unchangeable, what's the use in knowing things about who I used to be? My past friends, family, habits... They were meaningless to me know. Perhaps I had been happy in the past, perhaps I hadn't. The past was immaterial now. Posessions and memories weren't needed or useful. I had accepted my role as a seductive killing machine without looking back. There was nothing to look back on, I realized.  
  
Sighing as I ran a weary hand through my hair, I pulled it back, digusted. I was filthy, the need for a bath was unavoidable. Finding my way to the washroom, I sat down near the large bathtub, turning the handle to encourage the hot water forth. Feeling the liquid rush over my hand, I let the tub fill to the brim, shedding my new clothes and stepping into the water. I met with the warm sensation all over my dirty limbs, and I began scrubbing them, intent on ridding my pale skin of the filth. As my skin began to come clean, I felt as though the previous day's events were rubbing off as well. With each stroke of the soap-ridden sponge, I felt the memories of my fight with Trunks ebb away. I was safe now, he was nowhere near. My foolish weakness to him was well hidden; 17 would never know. 17 didn't _need_ to know.  
  
I sank deeper into the pleasant water, closing my eyes, finally comfortable and at rest. It was a new day... Anything could happen. 


	5. Bother

It didn't take long for 17 to come home. The strong metal door that acted as the lab's entrance opened with a whirr of mechanical motors, and he stepped in, flipping his sleek black hair over his shoulder in spite as the door closed behind him.  
  
"Where were you last night?" he demanded casually, coming down the hall and leaning against the door frame of the misty washroom. "_And_ early this morning?" His eyes were looking at me intently, as though he wanted an answer right away, though his voice made it sound like he wouldn't have objected if I had refused to tell him. He was looking as though he had something to tell, though I regarded it as mere curiousity as he folded his arms.  
  
"That doesn't concern you." I answered sharply, now gathering my clothes in my damp arms, pulling the towel wrapped around my body closer. A few strands of my wet hair fell into my eyes, and 17 smirked, chuckling to himself.  
  
"It's fine, then, if you'd dont want to share," he said, waving it off. "Perhaps I don't want to share either."  
  
"Mmm," I replied, not paying attention to his words as I closed the door to my room, letting the towel fall to the floor as I climbed back into my clothes, feeling the warm sweater caress my torso again, running my hands down the sleeves, almost fondly. Pulling on the jeans and placing the belt on my waist, I plucked the abandoned towel from the floor, rubbing it against my hair, trying to quicken the drying process. I ventured down the hall, coming to a stop when I reached 17, who was now sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television. He seemed bored and relaxed, his eyes slightly dazed as he watched the screen. "What were you babbling about earlier?" I asked, my interest sparked now that I had nothing better to do than listen to his voice.  
  
17 looked up and smirked, watching me dry my hair. "Nothing of interest." he said, almost sarcastically, and I scowled.  
  
"You're lying. You're lying and you know it." I tossed my towel over his head, walking to one of the windows that overlooked the cliff. My brother pulled my towel from his head quickly, pressing his face to it and inhaling deeply.  
  
"You use too much body lotion with your baths," he remarked, tossing the towel so it rested against the opposite arm of the couch. He caught my eye, grinning. "Perhaps you were with a boy last night?"  
  
Once more, a scowl played across my face. "Please. This conversation is both overstated and pathetic." I growled, leaning my elbows against the metal windowsill. "No human alive is worthy enough."   
  
"Ah, but this time _you're_ lying, 18. And you know it," he added, mocking me.  
  
I looked over quickly, my eyes searching his. But he had only been joking... He didn't seem to notice my abrupt lack of disinterest. In fact, he had returned to his television program. I grumbled to myself, forcing my eyes to go back to the window. I wasn't seeing any of the scenery, though--I felt my heart beating against my chest. I was only fooling myself, however... 17 didn't know anything about my feelings for Trunks. That is, if they truly were feelings...  
  
"Anyway," I heard my brother speak up as a commercial came on, "I forgot what we were talking about."  
  
"You were going to tell me what you were doing last night." I reminded him grumpily. I sighed, tucking a wisp of hair behind my ear, folding my arms across my front and turning to look at him. "What is it you so despiratly needed to let out?"  
  
"Hmph." 17 flicked the television off, his program having ended. "While I was out looking for you, I met up with that punk again. The lavendar haired one."  
  
I feigned an unconcerned yet amused look. "Is that so?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Did you manage to do him damage? Or did you slip up yet again, and let him get away?"  
  
My brother laughed, folding his hands behind his head as he leaned back, his dark hair falling over his shoulders. "Nah, just had some fun making him chase after me. He's too slow; it only lasted for a few minutes until I got bored. He's really starting to lose his edge." He stretched, kicking off his sneakers.  
  
"Of course." I replied, trying my best to conceal my relief. So Trunks hadn't been hurt... Suddenly realizing what I was thinking, I shook the idea from my head and glowered at 17. "Why didn't you finish him off?"  
  
He shrugged, playing with the orange bandana around his neck. "I wanted to test him, see if he'd gotten any better at fighting. Jesus, the punk's probably our physical age, you'd think he wouldn't have trouble keeping up with me after all this time." 17 laughed at his own remark, shaking his head.  
  
"So the only reason you pestered me was to get me to listen to your foolish stories of how you play with your enemies?" I frowned. "Why take the time? It doesn't matter to me."  
  
"Because you've taken interest in the kid." 17 answered, sounding as though it was common knowledge.  
  
"What?" I stared at him, feeling the blood drain from my face.  
  
He looked at me, his cold eyes boring into mine. "I'm your brother, 18." he replied, as though that was all I needed to know.  
  
There was nothing to counter the statement. His reply was so irrelevant to the answer I had wanted that I disregarded in frustration.   
  
"I let him live for the same reasons you do--in hopes for him becoming a challenge someday. He's no more interesting to me than the humans we killed last week." I made to walk into the other room, intending to give the impression that the conversation was over.  
  
"I'll kill him next time." 17 called after me, picking at one of his finger nails unconcernedly. I paused as I entered the hall, trying to tell if he was being serious.  
  
"Don't bother." 


	6. Life

I avoided 17 for the remainder of the afternoon, sulking to myself, leaving him to guess what I was put out over. He would constantly tease me, trying to cheer me up, but he only succeeded in angering me. I pulled away from him, both emotionally and physically. He sensed that something he said had put me into the mood I was in, and decided it best to leave me alone for the time being. Besides, I wasn't near fascinating enough to hold his interest for long. He insisted that there was nothing on television, and retired to his room, sliding the door closed behind him; I heard it lock with a click as I settled on the couch for a weary nap. But I couldn't sleep.  
  
He knew.  
  
He knew about Trunks. About how the mere mention of his name sent my mind reeling, driving me to the point of utter insanity. How I couldn't bring myself to kill him, to evevn talk about him without flinching. 17 had been right--he was my brother; he knew everything that went on inside my mind, and if I couldn't figure my own feelings out, he'd do it for me. It'd always been that way, for as long as I could remember. He'd watched out for me, even when I didn't want him to--even when I told him I dispised him more than any other creature on the Earth, he'd still watched over me. Maybe it was his way of clearing his guilty concience. What of, I didn't know.  
  
The knowledge of 17's awareness of my feelings bothered me greatly. He's planning to do something about this, I told myself, feeling sick at the thought. My brother's ideas of 'doing things' that nagged at him never did take to my liking. Though I loved to watch him decimate humans one by one, often turning it into a game of who could make the victims beg the most, I didn't approve of his urge to kill in vast numbers. I wanted to pick off the humans town by town, until the world was ours, but he saw fit to a different theory. He wanted to see the humans try to stop us--he wanted them to rebel so he would have an excuse to kill them all, rather than make a fool of himself in front of me by letting his power get to his head.   
  
17 was only a few hours my elder, though he sought to prove he was stronger than I was. Constantly challenging me to races, battles--which he passed off as pointless, unnecessary training for battles that would never come--and the frequent verbal tussle, he was always on the lookout to remind me that he could surpass me easily. Little did he know I had never raced him at my top speed, never fought him to my full potential, never snapped back with the best comeback I could muster. I was holding back. I always had been. I found that I felt more at ease when he was, and I thought best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was content believing he was the stronger of us, and I was content letting him do so. He was more pleasant to be around when he had his way. I felt that if the time ever came, he'd pull through for me. Perhaps I took our relationship as siblings for more than 17 meant to make it seem, seeing as he didn't like to be serious when he could help it. He loved to joke, to tease me and the humans he toyed with. It often got on my nerves to the point where I would run off for a week or two, just to get away from the mocking sarcasm. But I always came back. Always.  
  
The sweater I was still wearing suddenly seemed unflattering. I looked down at the faded jeans and leather belt, scowling. Magenta wasn't such a soothing color after all.   
  
Hearing no noise from 17's room, no chatter of a television set nor the light flutter of snores, I decided to go out again. It didn't matter where to, or for how long--I only sought to find something to do, someone to torment. I had to get rid of the energy I'd somehow regained during my bath and the excuse for a nap that had followed my argument with my brother. Sliding the mechanical door open, I stepped out onto the cliffside that our lab was on. There was a slight breeze that morning, and I closed my eyes, letting it play across my face. Then, jumping from the edge, I plummeted hundreds of feet, free-falling towards the evergreen trees far below me, only to pull out of the drop just as I reached their tops, holding out my hands and brushing my fingers against the tips of the trees as I flew forward. I felt free to do as I wished. I _was_ free to do as I wished. No one was stopping me. No one _could_ stop me. It was all up to me to decide. This was my life. 


	7. Guilt

Wow, I really picked up on this fic, didn't I? ^_^ I guess I just got back into the swing of things. Thanks for reviewing so much! I can't believe how much you guys seem to like this fic. I'm so pleased... Thank you for all of your support.  
  
*  
  
I felt energy coursing through my veins as I flew over the rivers lining the forest. Being an android, I had every physical feature a human did--blood, hair, flesh--as well as emotional traits. I could feel pain, sorrow, happiness, anger, anything a human could. But I could feel them ten-fold. Everything I did, felt or experienced was to greater effect than a human could ever know.  
  
Imagine how I felt when I saw him again.  
  
I wanted to set free the energy that was bubbling inside of me. I wanted to destroy something, breathe the soot from the air as buildings crumbled and fires raged. I wanted to hear screams. I wanted to feel like I was in control, to break free from whatever was holding me back, whether it be my brother or Trunks, or neither. I didn't care. I'd never felt like this before, and I loved it. Nothing could touch me.  
  
I found what I was looking for--a town just on the outskirts of a city my brother and I plundered often. I was in luck, for the town was still very much intact, and to me it seemed as though it was begging to be demolished; I never did like peaceful settings such as this.  
  
Landing in the hills overlooking the town, I narrowed my eyes, watching the humans going about their business. They seemed so happy--they didn't deserve to be happy. Why should I have suffered so when mere _humans_ were happier? It bothered me. I found that latly everything bothered me. So confusing was my world and the role I was to play. I stepped into the shade of a nearby tree, keeping my eyes on a young girl who was carrying groceries home from the store down the corner. She was wearing a dress I fancied, with long sleeves to cover her arms against the fall breeze. Light brown bangs dusted her perfect face, and the rest of her hair ran down the length of her back, tied back in a thick braid that swayed to and fro as she walked. As I watched, she tripped, spilling her groceries about the sidewalk, skinning her knees. Hopelessly trying to gather her purchases, she looked about for help--it came within moments. A young man her age came hurrying over to her side of the street, kneeling down and placing the food back into the bags as the girl blushed and focused her attention to nursing her knees. The man helped her to her feet, still holding the groceries in one arm. I scowled as the two headed down the street together, one of the girl's hands placed greatfully on the man's arm. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. I clenched my fists. Why should she have what I couldn't? The one I loved hated me. But then again, I reminded myself, I hated him in return. I didn't know which feelings to follow. All I knew was that I needed to tire myself out, and this town would make a satisfactory warmup. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, preparing to spring into the air and decend upon the humans, when I felt a strong hand grip my wrist and fling me back, hard, into the trunk of the tree I had been shading myself under.  
  
I went flying, caught totally off-guard, and landed against the tree, sliding to the ground.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
I opened my eyes to find Trunks standing before me, glowering down at my figure as I lay sprawled on the grass at the base of the tree. I didn't have time to respond properly. My heart was beating against my chest, and I felt lightheaded. I forced the feelings away. This wasn't right. He was denying me what I wanted.  
  
"Has my mercy taught you nothing?" He threw the question into the open, where it lingered and seemed to cling to the very air I took in. He motioned to the town down the hill.  
  
I was too stunned to say anything. My eyes were wide as I stared at him. The sunlight bathed him in warm light, his lavendar hair playing gently against his face as the breeze blew from some unknown direction. His crystal blue eyes were so haunting--I recalled vividly the memory of them being so close to mine. He looked no different than he usually did. He was beautiful.  
  
Trunks brandished his sword, clutching it tight and tensing as he glared deeply at me. He had skillfully toned arms and shoulders; just looking at him assured one that he was indeed strong. He wasn't overly bulky, as I had come to judge his father, who had posessed far too many muscles for his own good. Trunks was a different kind of strong--he was home to emotional strength as well as physical strength.  
  
I realised that all the while I had been staring at him. Trunks hadn't moved, but was eyeing me in heated confusion, as though he expected me to lunge at him. The thought had barely crossed my mind. I merely wanted to take his presence in.  
  
"Why are you constantly hindering me?" I spat, abruptly discovering that I wanted to be left to my thoughts. "These people don't know you. They mean nothing to you. What does it matter if they die?"  
  
"That's just it. It _does_ matter if they die, whether I know them or not. Their lives mean something, maybe not to me, but I've got to protect them from mosters like you." He growled, tightening the hold on his sword.  
  
I scoffed. "You're willing to die for people you don't even know...?" We'd been through the conversation many times before. It was somewhat like a play to me, and I was acting out one of the leading roles. We had no audience but eachother. No applause except the satisfaction that went to the victor of the brawls that followed.  
  
"You know the answer."  
  
"Don't play with me!" I snapped, clenching a fist. "Do me a justice and give in like all the others--give in to your fears, give in to the terror you live in each day. Give in to the destruction and the hatred; why do you contstantly come back to protect those who will die in the end, regardless of what you do? You're only preserving their lives so they can continue to exist in misery. Misery I've created--gladly created. And I'd create it all again if given even a moment's opprotunity!"  
  
Trunks didn't seem to have an answer right away. He paused, still eyeing me. "I can never give in, I can't stop fighting you. Not until you're gone. Not until whatever's left of my world is safe."  
  
Me anger took the best of me, and I took a swing at him with my leg, knocking him in the shoulder and sending him off-balance, but he regained footing and came at me quickly, swinging at me with his blade as I dodged swiftly, the sharp edges coming too close to my face for comfort. He took off, trying, as he always did, to lead me away from the people of the town so as to ensure their safety. Usually I played along with his game. But not this time.  
  
Instead I went the opposite direction that he was going--turning on my heel and making a mad dash down to the small city. Trunks seemed to sense that I was no longer following him, and he stopped dead in midair, apparating feet behind me and trying again to graze his sword across my figure, yet I was too fast. Gathering an energy wave in my hand, I flung it at the nearest building--the grocery store the girl I had seen earlier had visited--and it hit before Trunks could stop it. The store crumbled, bricks and wood shattering as the energy wave tore it apart. People in the streets screamed, dropping what they were doing and fleeing in the opposite direction. Without success Trunks blasted his own energy ball at me, but I proved again to be too agile for him; I ducked, hitting the energy with the back of my hand, deflecting it into yet another building that seemed almost to deflate instantly.  
  
Trunks seemed horrified at what he had caused, and came at me with another series of swipes from his sword. "Why?!"  
  
"Why?" I laughed, jumping back each time as he aimed to hit me. "Because humans have no purpose! They're like buildings: easy to knock down. Why won't you fall over, Trunks?!" I taunted, continuing to duck his sword and kicks. He became frustrated, and sheated the sword, trying a different approach--or perhaps it was a repeated attempt to lead me away from the city. I answered the attempt by sending another building to the ground--this time a bank. More people scattered, some fleeing past our fight. Amoung them was the girl from the grocery store, who was being rushed along by her lover. I tore off after them, taking into the air and leaving Trunks to chase after me. I wanted her dead. She had what I didn't.  
  
The girl screamed as she caught sight of me just above her. Her lover covered her with his arms, looking up at me with sheer terror in every inch of his face. The girl was crying now, clinging to the man as I stared down at them.  
  
"It's unfair!" I cried, glaring fiercely, gathering another energy wave in my hand; the man's eyes widened, and he let out a gasp as I threw my arm back, ready to blast them into oblivion. Suddenly they were gone--it happened in a blurr. My eyes cast around for them, and landed on Trunks, who had just set foot on the roof of a house down the street. The humans were with him; he had obviously ducked in to save them just in time.  
  
Furious, I gathered waves of energy in both my hands this time, apparating just in front of the house and blasting it to bits, the whole structure collapsing as I jumped back to avoid getting hit by the rubble. Again they were gone. I cast around for them once more, my eyes narrowed, my ears alert for any sounds other than fleeing humans. Constant screams drowned out any chance of me finding them, so I merely started blasting house after house, building after building. Children were crying, dogs were barking, people were abandoning their houses in attempt to get away safely with their lives. Car horns honked, fires blazed, smoke erupted from demolished houses. If a car got in my way of a house, I simply made sure it became a mountain of ash. I wouldn't give up until I found that girl. She needed to understand. She needed to know how much pain her happiness caused me. There was no sign of Trunks or the humans I was after.  
  
I landed safely on one foot as I touched down. All around me lay the remains of the little town; what was left of crumbled buildings here and there marked the graves of those who hadn't been able to make it out in time. Somewhere a dog was still barking. Glass shattered abruptly from a house that had just burst into flame. None of it mattered to me. My biggest concern was dirtying my recently washed hair.  
  
There was a whizz of noise and I spun around just in time to see Trunks' sword swing at me from practically nowhere. I didn't have time to duck; the blade cut deep into my shoulder, and I stumbled back, watching as Trunks landed in front of me, his sword raised again.  
  
"Where is she?" I demanded, my thoughts still on the girl as my shoulder began to sting fiercely. She wouldn't get away--I wouldn't let her have another chance at happiness, not when my chances were so few.  
  
"They're both safe," he spat, his teeth clenched. "You've demolished another city, ended more innocent lives. You've even killed children," he lectured, staring coldy at me. "You deserve to perish."  
  
"Forget about innocent lives!" I choked. "Don't you understand that you're nothing to me? Nothing! Stop haunting me! I want the girl dead!" I brough the subject of the girl back to distract myself from what I felt like screaming at him. "I want her dead, you hear me?! I don't care about you, this has nothing to do with you!" I winced--the wound in my shoulder was bleeding profusely. I put a hand to it, cringing as I felt ash mix with blood. I was slowly losing feeling in the battered limb. Trunks refused to move.  
  
"I won't let you hurt them." he announced, his sword at the ready again. "I'll finish you off!"  
  
"Don't you understand, you fool?" I all but screamed, tears in my eyes once more. "She has what I can't have! She has _happiness_!"  
  
Something came over Trunks again, quite a bit like a few days before. He fell quiet, all but looking away from me as he fought to determine if I was playing the bluff. His crystal eyes bored into mine, and he narrowed them.  
  
"I don't trust you." he said flatly, abandoning the look of silent surprise. He began walking forward slowly, his sword poised to kill. All the while those eyes of his never left mine. "I don't believe any of it. You can't have happiness--not after what you've done. You're a monster."  
  
My shoulder was still bleeding, and I was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss. My head spun as he neared me, and my vision blurred. I fought to stand up. Suddenly the tip of Trunks' sword was under my chin, pushing my face up to look at him. We were face to face. I could almost smell him; it wasn't an unpleasant smell. Almost positive he could hear my heartbeat--which was loudly pounding what little blood my body had left--I tried to back away, but he only moved closer, threatening to cut me again with his blade. All the while he didn't utter a word, didn't lecture me in the few moments we stared at eachother. I felt my legs weakening. His silence was too much for me. I'd have to act fast if I wanted to get away alive.  
  
I lashed out, flinging a series of short, blinding energy waves at his face as I turned and fled in the opposite direction, stumbling slightly as I leapt into the air, taking off. I didn't look back. I didn't want to. Still holding my injured arm, I flew faster than I can ever remember flying, wanting nothing more than to escape those eyes. I had long since stopped crying; in fact, I couldn't ever remember starting. I flew over lakes and trees, mountains and fields, until, exhausted, I fell from the air, coming to land sharply on the ground. Struggling to stay conscious, I pulled myself into a sitting position against a nearby boulder, burrying my face in my hands. I was hopeless. I couldn't keep fooling myself.  
  
For the first time in my life, I felt guilty for what I had done.  
  
*  
  
Hmm... I'm not sure if I'm happy with how 18's turning out to be. She seems quick to cry these days; I imagined her more tough. What do you guys think? Should I re-write this chapter, or leave it as it is? What do you think, Has-Bei? 


	8. Gone

My body swam in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. Not having the strength or will to stand or make an effort to stem the flow of blood from my shoulder, I allowed my mind to wander helplessly. I didn't think to wonder if Trunks had followed me. If he had I certainly wouldn't have lived much longer--he would have taken the opportunity to kill me in my weakened state. Given the same chance, had I been in his shoes, I would have put such a dispicable creature like myself out of its misery. I was nothing more than a battered machine.   
  
Nothing more than a monster.  
  
I had forgotten the girl. She meant little to me now. She was safe, Trunks had made sure of that. I was no better off, I still had the grief of lonliness to myself and myself alone. There was no one for me to share it with.  
  
I felt dizzy, nauseated and cold at the same time. I had bruises on my legs from where Trunks had landed blows, and my sweater was torn across the sleeve. My belt had been lost in the fight. My faded jeans were caked with ash and mud. My hair was once again soot-ridden, and there was a cut under my left eye. The blood flowing from the gash in my shoulder had subsided slightly, and I cradled the wounded arm in my lap. I couldn't keep doing this to my body, despite the fact that I was made of such durable material.   
  
"You disgust me."  
  
I looked up, and to my disbelief and horror, I found myself staring into the face of my creator, the late Doctor Gero. He looked as alive as ever, as bitter and demanding as he had been before 17 had destroyed him. His cold, grey eyes seemed to look straight through me. "I created you. I made you who you are. This is how you repay me for giving you eternal life and beauty? I find you as you are now: torn and disfuntional, ashamed and beaten."  
  
"You're dead." I said defiantly, shaking my head, ignoring the insults. "17 killed you. I watched you die. You're not real." The absolute tone in my voice seemed to comfort me into believing that my words were real.  
  
Gero let out a harsh laugh which resembled that of a bark. "You were never fit for immortality like your brother was. You were too stubborn. Look where you've gotten yourself." He sneered down at me--I had given up all hopes of standing. I merely looked up at him from where I lay on the ground, propped up against the boulder.   
  
I scowled out of pure fear and confusion. "You only talk this way because you know I can't harm you in this condition." I hissed, seeing the truth for what it was. "You're afraid of me."  
  
He narrowed his eyes as he gazed down at me. Without acknowledging my threat, he continued asking his questions. "This boy... Why have you allowed him to do such damage to you? Your main hard drive will shut down immediatly if you put anymore unnecessary burden on it. You'll become a lifeless doll, as you once were before I gave you life. Is this what you want? For I, your father, Dr. Gero, to put his daughter into a coffin once more, like a doll?"  
  
I was mortified. Memories of being trapped in the start-up coffin long ago came flooding back into my mind--the darkness pressing in on me from all sides, the lack of air and light. I squeezed my eyes shut. Fear seeped into my body and kept me from looking back up as the Doctor continued to interrogate me.  
  
"Your brother was much more fit to become like me." he said, glowering in disapproval. "You were beautiful. No one could touch you. But eventually your programming ran into a malfuction and you became as you are now. You disobeyed me. Now you find yourself in disrepair. You've lost your pride as an android."  
  
I moaned, closing my eyes and turning my head away. If only I could wake up from this nightmare... None of it was true, all of it was a trick. I was perfectly functional, if only I could regenerate my strength. Rest was all I needed for my skin to repair, for my shoulder to heal. There were no bugs in my hard drive, there were no malfuntions in my programming...  
  
"You tried to make us look and act as humanly possible so we could blend in with our victims. You gave us _emotions_, you made us as real as technology would allow. I'm dealing with the emotions you placed within me. Emotions that are now stronger than those of a human. I'm not just dealing with these emotions--they're becomming a part of me."  
  
Dr. Gero eyed me for a moment, running his fingers through his bushy white beard. "The only human parts you have are your flesh and blood. All the rest of you is machinery."  
  
"Liar!" I retorted loudly. I had used the remaining strength left in my battered body arguing--and thusly, having been fully drained, laid back against the boulder in a faint. My eyelids slid shut, the hallucination of Dr Gero disappearing as I fell unconscious, finally giving in to sleep. He was gone. 


	9. Perhaps

"18...?"  
  
Someone was calling my name over and over, reaching out for me. I could see a figure standing before me, smiling at me. Without warning, my vision cleared, and I was able to make out whose hand was being held out to me.  
  
I realised that I was standing, the pain in my shoulder gone. Reaching a hand hesitantly to the place where the gash had been, I felt nothing but the crushed velvet fabric of my magenta sweater against my fingertips. I was healed, perfectly functional again.   
  
And Trunks was holding his hand out to me.  
  
He was gazing at me fondly. There was no sign of his sword, no anger in his face, no words of discouragement. His hand was still suspended in mid-air, waiting for me to take it. Instead of the haunting, ice-cold nature his eyes usually held when laid upon me, they were now fixed in a different kind of gaze. It was as though he wanted me there with him. He didn't want me to leave.  
  
"18," he said, his voice ringing in my ears. "take my hand."  
  
I opened my mouth, no words coming out. I wanted nothing more than apply myself to his request. As I stood, staring at him, the look on his face didn't change. He wanted to be with me.  
  
My heart thumped loudly in my ears, my world spinning. How could he love me? How could he learn to feel for me after all I'd done? I had killed his father. His sensei, Gohan. His friends. There was no way he could put it behind him, he could never love me fully, totally. But here he was, willing to try. Trunks _wanted_ to try.  
  
Slowly lifting my hand, I placed it in his. My fingers seemed so slender, so small compared to his; but they fit perfectly into his palm as he closed his fingers around mine gently. His smile widened. I tried to speak again but found myself at a loss for words.  
  
"Do you trust me?" I finally asked, looking at him, hard. The wind picked up, my hand still in his. I wanted trust him, as long as he trusted me in return.   
  
And that's when I opened my eyes.   
  
Trunks was gone. The night was still and silent. The dull pain in my shoulder remained. I hadn't moved from my position against the boulder.  
  
It had all been a dream.  
  
I clenched my teeth in disappointment and frustration as realisation dawned upon me. The visions had felt so real... The breeze against my face, my hand in his. But it was nothing more than an illusion. My strained mind had played a hurtful trick upon my despirate feelings. I was just as alone as I had been before I had fallen asleep. It felt as though his presence was lingering; I could still feel his hand on my fingertips. I could almost have smelled him, the dream had been that deceitful. I had finally received the attention I had been hungering for, the attention I wanted from no other but him, and it had been snatched away from me. Perhaps, I told myself, I would have been even more hurt had the dream continued. Perhaps it was best it had ended before he had answered, for the recognition of the moment being a dream would have been even more painful, more ailing to my already battered body.   
  
My legs were still stretched out in front of me, and I bent them to my chest, making sure they were unhurt. Other than the occasional bruise, they were still intact. Aside from the gash in my shoulder, my arms were in the same state as my legs. I fingered the cut under my eye gently, and assumed that it would heal without scarring. I tried calling out, but stopped myself as I realised there was no one to call out too. No one would hear me. No one would willingly help an andoid to her feet. Sleep had granted me the energy to stand, and I managed to get up, swaying slighty.  
  
Each step was painful, and it wasn't just physical. I felt even more abandonded. It was as if I had been betrayed, as if I had lost something I had strived for. Gero's words were running through my mind; he, too, had seemed perfectly alive. I shuddered against my will--Gero, above any other--had been the only being I could remember being afraid of at one point in my life.  
  
Gero himself wasn't terrifying--what kept me from displeasing him was what he was capable of doing. He had often reminded me how easily he could cause me unimaginable pain, or even worse, make my new mechanical body do things against my wishes. He could shut me down, he taunted. With the simple press of a button, he could shut me down. He could make it so I could never come back to life. He threatened to set a virus into my programming so I would begin to lose memories, functions, everything and anything I could do or feel. It unnerved me to no end. 17, however, had obviously been spared the taunting thoughts. I could tell from the start that my brother had been plotting something in the back of his mind, perfecting some scheme to rid himself of the Doctor. I supported him, wanting nothing more than to be free of the Doctor, but I wouldn't take action, I wouldn't put that support into action--I was too afraid of what Gero was capable of doing to me. Fear held me back as 17 continued to follow the Doctor's orders obediently, becomming the his favorite quickly. Gero trusted 17 in a way he never trusted me. I suppose that's how my brother caught our creator so off-guard.  
  
Somehow, by some matter of miracles, I reached the bottom of the cliff on which the building I called home sat upon.  
  
"What the--?" I heard a voice from behind me, and meakly lifting my head, turning to look at whoever it was.  
  
17 was staring at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, looking me up and down. He appeared to have just come home as well. "What happened to _you_?" he muttered, a slight grin coming onto his face. He was enjoying this, as usual. He always drew amusement from seeing me in such a state. It rarely happened, but when it did, he loved to gloat. I didn't answer straight away, directing my gaze to the ground.  
  
"I wore myself out." I lied, my hair falling into my eyes. "I merely went too far."  
  
17 obviously didn't buy it. He laughed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't give me that bull." he protested, chuckling to himself. "You're saying you did this to yourself?"  
  
I nodded, racking my mind for another lie. "Yes."  
  
This caused another unconvinced laugh from 17 to errupt. "It was the punk, wasn't it?" my brother questioned, and I glowered angrily. He always knew just how to get me on edge, it was one of his favorite things to do. "I'm right, aren't I? You're letting him get away with beating the living crap out of you so you won't have to feel guilty when you get your revenge." He shook his head. "That's lunacy."  
  
Looking back on the incident, I realise now that my brother had been half right. I had indeed been holding myself back without knowing it. If I had wanted Trunks dead, I would have killed him long ago, even before I had killed Gohan. I could have tortured the boy, I could have made his demise obviously painful. But I had chosen to let him live. It was the reason _why_ I had let him survive that confused me to the brink of insanity.  
  
I looked at my brother, who was waiting for me to agree with him. He still had that playful, mocking smirk on his face, that foolish bandana he refused to remove from around his neck, the pitiful choice of clothing he always wore. I twisted my face into a grin similar to his, standing straight.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
*  
  
After a lot of debate and telling people I would do one thing or the other, I decided to leave the previous two chapters alone, aside from a few tweaks which will come into play in the next update. I'm at a loss for what to do next. It's been brought to my attention by several people [whether it be by reviews or emails] that I8 has been constantly losing battles she's had with Trunks throughout the story, even though in the series she's obviously stronger than the half-saiyan. Don't forget that she defeated him in the very first chapter. Speaking of the first chapter, I made some changes to it to make our android seem more in character. Nothing big, just a few adjustments. I'm going to take some time off from writing this fic because I need time for my thoughts to sort themselves out. Please give me some feedback to work with.  
  
Ciao, minna.  
  
Ryo-Oh-Ki Chan 


	10. Arcade

I'm back!

* * *

17 wouldn't let me out of his sight for quite some time afterwords. Even after I had fully recovered from the wounds I had acquired from my last battle, he still kept me under tight supervision.  
  
"Where are you going?" he'd ask in an irritable tone every time I wandered over to the windows or the door, looking up from the television as though I was a child who needed constant watching.  
  
I can't say I was grateful. I can't say he was wrong in looking out for me. I don't know what compelled me to allow him to act like my caretaker, but it gave both of us a sense of security we had never thought we'd need.  
  
"No where," I'd snap back, throwing him a disgusted look. "Leave me the hell alone."  
  
"I would," was the usual answer, accompanied by a smirk, "but you've grown so weak I don't think you'd come back if I let you go."

* * *

As far as memories go, androids like 17 and I had enough space in our hard drives to last us until we could no longer function. We remembered every detail of every moment, every scent, every touch. It was both a blessing and a curse in disguise, for it would take more than a mere virus to clear my memory base of what events took place the next night.  
  
Relaxing on the couch as my brother watched yet another pathetic television show, I had my legs tucked up near my chest, my head resting against the armrest. I wasn't paying much attention to 17; in fact, I wasn't paying much attention to anything in general. My eyes were heavily unfocused as I stared at the wall. I hadn't left the cliff side lab for over a week, and I felt stiff all over. I had actually caught myself glancing at the television on several occasions, hungry for something that would help pass the time. Disgusted with myself when I realized that I was sinking to my brother's lazy, mind-numbing ways, I would quickly leave the room.  
  
"You look like hell." 17 commented, glancing over at me as a commercial came on. A catchy jingle played out, advertising a new brand of Capsule Corp. Car models. It had been the first thing he'd said to me all day.   
  
Scowling, I continued to stare at the wall. "Fuck you."  
  
He grinned, shaking his head. "You sound like hell, too."  
  
"The only thing that's more repulsing than being stuck here is the amount of television you watch, 17."  
  
"You do your thing, and I'll do mine," he replied, turning up the volume.  
  
I stood, shooting another intense glare his way. I had been able to tolerate him less and less over the last week. Turning to head towards the bathroom, I flicked my hair angrily over my shoulder, growing fond of the idea of a bath.  
  
"Hey," 17 called to my back, looking over at me. "Stop sulking and find something to do with me. Y'know, a little brother/sister bonding time."  
  
With a smirk on my face, I looked back. "I can hardly imagine what that would involve, 17."  
  
He grinned at me, knowing that the proposition of getting out of the lab was too much for me to pass up. He was once again proving that he knew me better than I cared to admit. "There's this new arcade down near the shopping center of a town not too far from here."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Get real, 17, that's hardly worth my time."  
  
"A little fresh air will get rid of those bags under your eyes," he shot back, relying on me taking the bait. "You look almost a hundred years old. I think you're gathering dust like the toaster in the kitchen."  
  
Narrowing my eyes, I crossed my arms, letting him get the best of me. "So, where's this arcade, you lummox?"  
  
Something about the wind on my face seemed to bring me back to life. I suddenly had energy I didn't know the origins of, but my body tingled as though I'd been sleeping for far too long. The evening was young, but the sun had long set. 17 was amusing himself by shooting random ki blasts at large pine trees that lined the highways leading to and from the town we were heading towards. His laughter echoed across the deserted roads as tree after tree collapsed to the ground amidst an explosion of wood and dirt.   
  
"Timber!!" he shouted, sounding like a little child. He cackled, clutching his sides as he flipped in mid air, flying on his back. So immature.  
  
"Is that all you can do?" I called to him over the wind, and his eyes glinted as a grin spread across his face.  
  
"Think you can do better?" he returned, flinging another energy blast at a particularly large tree. It creaked and groaned loudly as its trunk erupted from the ground, its branches shedding their needles as it hit the road, blocking it off from any traffic that might happen to pass by in the near future.  
  
"Of course," I snapped, fisting my hands and releasing a blinding wave of small blasts, uprooting several trees and sending them flying. My spirits lifted and I felt wonderful for the first time in a week. Taking part in dumb competitions with my brother always seemed to cheer me up.  
  
He laughed, shaking his head. "Nice try, 18, but how about this?" Bringing his hands together, his body glowed as he powered up, aiming for a small group of trees that appeared to be secluded from the rest. In a quick flash of light, the trees were gone.  
  
"Show off." I grumbled, as he began to descend, the small town just below us. Rather than teleporting to save time, I let the wind lift my hair from my shoulders as I dropped in altitude, closing my eyes as my feet touched down on concrete pavement.  
  
The town was just as small as I had imagined, composed of a small street of shops that eventually lead to the suburban area it supported. The arcade wasn't hard to find; it seemed to be the hot spot of the town, or so I gathered, noticing an acute crowd of teenagers standing around. Several were smoking cigarettes, laughing and joking with their friends. 17 and I fit perfectly among the crowd as we pushed our way into the building, but we couldn't have been more different. Oddly enough, I didn't feel out of place.  
  
The only thing 17 loved more than mass destruction and mind rotting television, was arcade games. His favorites were Pac-Man and Galaga, titles that meant nothing to me. I had never played an arcade game before. It had always seemed so childish, so boring. But 17 seemed to be grinning from ear to ear as he made his way towards the nearest game.  
  
Giving the machine a kick to start it up and avoid popping quarters into the slot, my brother grabbed the joystick and proceeded to play the game. I leaned against it, my arms crossed as I looked up at the ceiling. Music blared from speakers that were hooked up with far too many wires, and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. I sighed. This hadn't been my idea of a good time. 17 cursed under his breath as the game beeped, signaling a game over. Kicking the machine again, he started up a new game, the screen reflected in his eyes.   
  
"Hey, gorgeous," came a voice, and I glanced over to see a boy walking towards me, a pair of shady sunglasses pulled halfway down his nose. "Wanna get a drink with me?"  
  
"Get lost." I waved him off, scowling. His breath smelled heavily of alcohol. He laughed, leaning against the wall, stopping me from getting away. 17 didn't move, still pressing buttons and jerking the joystick back and forth, but I saw his eyes flick to the boy, narrowing in suspicion.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, babe, just one," the stranger tried again, grinning lopsidedly. "I'm not such a bad guy once you get to know me."  
  
"She said get lost, imbecile." my brother grumbled, losing his concentration in the game, causing the screen to flash the words, 'game over' once more. He turned to face the boy, his eyes still narrowed.   
  
"Who do you think you are, huh, pal? Let the lady make her own decisions." the boy snapped at 17, eyeing him up and down. "Don't be such a punk."  
  
Before the boy could turn to me again, 17 had grabbed him around the collar of his shirt, lifting him into the air. The boy's sunglasses clattered to the floor as he struggled helplessly to get free. "Hey!? Let go of me!" I merely watched, still leaning against the machine. A few bystanders looked over, excited at the prospect of a fight. Soon a small crowd was gathered around the three of us, and people were cheering.  
  
"Perhaps I should teach you a little respect, you drunken fool," 17 smirked, tightening his grip on the boy's shirt. With a flick of his wrist, my brother easily sent him flying into the opposite wall. A sickening crunch sounded throughout the room as the boy hit the concrete at an odd angle, sliding down to the floor in a drunken heap. By now the other people in the arcade had put two and two together and were well aware of what was going on and who 17 and I were.  
  
"Someone call the police!" came a brave human's voice, breaking the terrified silence. At the sound of the cry, several people screamed, and there was a mad dash for the door. There were more panicked screams as 17 began to laugh. "It's the androids!"  
  
Standing straight, I exchanged glances with my brother.  
  
"Nice job," I snapped, looking over at the lifeless body of the womanizing boy. A dribble of blood coming from his parted lips stood out against his now pale skin. "You scared them off."  
  
"We'll just have to hunt them down, then--" he began to answer, but suddenly caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the owner of the arcade making a horrified run for the exit. "Hey, you!"  
  
Not looking back, the owner picked up his pace, trying desperately to get away. 17 phased out and reappeared before the man, stopping him in his tracks. The owner was a short, middle aged human who seemed to be suffering from male-pattern baldness. He whimpered frantically, falling backwards onto the ground. He scooted away, yelping loudly. "You own this place, right?" 17 asked, looking amused at the man's terrified expression. "I'm talking to you, human; answer me!"  
  
The owner of the arcade nodded quickly, scrambling to his feet. I could see him shivering. I shook my head.  
  
"Then you'd be willing to give me some tokens for a free game, wouldn't you?" my brother continued, walking towards the man, backing him up against the far wall. The balding human cried out as his back pressed against the concrete.  
  
"Of course! Anything you say, anything at all! Just please don't hurt me, please!!"  
  
"There's nothing that disgusts me more than a useless human pleading for his life." 17 spat, looking down at the owner. He motioned to the boy's lifeless body. "You want to end up like that? Hm?"  
  
"N-no! I'll give you as many free games as you'd like--I'll give you anything you want! Please--!" The man shook his head, burying his face in his hands as he began to sob out of pure terror. 17 clicked his tongue, looking unamused.   
  
"Hey, 17, watch this." I said, reaching out my hand and pushing against the nearest arcade game. It fell to the floor easily, the chord that plugged it into the wall straining heavily as the machine smashed against the ground. Sparks flew in all directions, until finally the machine exploded in an array of colors. "Looks like these games are more amusing than they seem."  
  
My brother laughed, glancing at the owner of the arcade, who was still crying into his palms. "Do it again, 18."  
  
Stepping closer to another machine, I tipped it over gently until it, too, crashed to the floor and erupted in sparks until it exploded, lighting up the building momentarily. 17 grabbed yet another machine and pulled it from the wall, tossing it into the air and tossing a ki blast straight for it, causing it to explode in a new way. Grinning at each other, we set out to put on a show, destroying machines and marveling at the sparks it caused.   
  
Somewhere in all the fun, the man slipped away, running faster than he'd probably ever run in his life. He left 17 and me to demolish his new business, never once looking back.  
  
Soon after, we left the arcarde in rubble, setting out to find a new source of fun. We found the streets deserted, shops left abandoned as their keepers had run for safety. 17 and I were quite alone. I glanced over to see a clothing store; it's door had been left wide open, the lights still on. Letting my love for fashion get the best of me, I headed over to look for something new to wear. It was about time I treated myself. 17 rolled his eyes in irritation, sighing loudly.  
  
"Christ, 18, not more clothes?"  
  
"I didn't ask you to come with me, idiot," I called back, entering the store and looking around. It smelled of cotton and polyester, and I ran my hands along the racks of new shirts.   
  
And as I was trying on a new pair of suede sandals, I looked up just in time to see the night sky ignite with sudden blasts of light, causing a massive explosion that shattered the windows of the clothing store. Shielding my eyes from the shards of glass flying through the air, I let my vision adjust as I struggled to see.   
  
He had arrived. 


	11. Sword

Slowly, the dust from the explosion cleared and 17 stood straight, looking at least caught off guard if not surprised. His eyes searched the sky for the cause of the explosion, but I didn't need to guess.  
  
I already knew Trunks was here.  
  
"17! Above you!" I alerted him sharply, tossing aside the sandals and clearing away the broken door to make my way out to the street. He glanced up, seeing nothing, but suddenly spun around, catching the blade of Trunks' sword between his hands, holding his attacker at bay just in front of his face.  
  
"I should have known you'd bother us again," my brother said with a smirk, his look of surprised having vanished from his face. "What took you so long, eh?"  
  
Trunks said nothing, merely using brute force to free his sword from my brother's hold on it, trying to make a hit. "Let's see if you can hold your own tonight, kid!" He let go of the sword, jumping back and disappearing. Trunks recovered quickly, turning just in time to deflect a ki blast from behind, and flying at my brother again, coming at him with a series of strikes and slashes. I looked on, torn between watching and helping my brother. Obviously, if I was to fight that night, I would be on his side.  
  
Trunks had improved, but not much. My brother was keeping him on his toes, randomly attacking to test the lavender-haired boy's speed and skill, knowing also that no, there hadn't been much improvement since their last fight. 17 chuckled darkly as Trunks missed him swipe after slash, duck after dodge, kick after punch. He phased in and out, appearing and reappearing behind Trunks and taking a swing at him, knocking the boy back and forth. It was definitely something 17 loved to do. It was like a little kid playing with his vegetables before having to eat them; seeing how mashed and gross they could become before being forced to consume them. It was only a matter of time until 17 became fed up.  
  
I saw him fist his hands, powering up and flinging energy waves at Trunks, hardly trying to actually hit him; rather, he was trying to wear his attacker out with all the dodging.  
  
I can't say whether I was glad to see Trunks or not. My recent happenings with him--especially the dream I'd had--made my mind process strange thoughts. My eyes followed the two back and forth, feeling their power levels rise and fall. The whole time, our lavender-haired friend remained silent other than his usual pained noises made when 17 struck him from time to time.  
  
"Want a turn, 18?" 17 offered, dodging Trunks' sword over and over, almost laughing. "I don't want to hog all the fun, after all."  
  
I frowned as my brother landed a blow to the boy's shoulder, and in a flash, Trunks' sword had fallen from his hand. Before he could even react, 17 had snatched it in mid-air, clutching it at the hilt and slamming it into Trunks' back, sending him careening into the ground.  
  
With a loud crash, he hit the ground, a large crater forming instantly. 17 landed near the crater, tossing the sword to me. Reaching out and catching it, my frown deepening, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the blade.  
  
"That was hardly a workout." 17 pouted, folding his arms and glancing down into the hole Trunks' body had created on impact. "He barely even hit me. I think it tickled."  
  
"Stop sulking," I grumbled, testing the sword out with a practice swing. "Let's go before he gets back up." It was no wonder Trunks held onto his sword; it was a magnificent weapon, lightweight and perfect for close range combat.  
  
"Not this time, 18," my dark-haired brother wagged a finger at me. "I think it's about high time we finally rid ourselves of this half-saiyan scum."  
  
"17, it's not necessary." I ran a finger along the sword, my hand at the hilt. It was still warm from when Trunks had held it. "Let's just leave."  
  
17 cocked an eyebrow at me. "18, you've been acting peculiar lately."  
  
"And you've been pain in the ass lately, but you don't hear me complaining." I snapped, looking furious. "If I think we should leave, then we should leave."  
  
Keeping his eyes on me, 17 began to gather a large amount of energy in his hand. It glowed and flickered, growing. I gave him a scathing look, but he ignored me, turning to the crater behind him. "17...!" I warned, tightening my grip on the sword in my hand.  
  
The energy in my brother's palm grew, consuming his hand in a flashing light. I could feel his power level rise steadily. I narrowed my eyes, and he glanced back at me. It was as though he thought I was daring him to try it.  
  
"That's the problem with you, 18..." he began, bringing his hands together as the energy grew. "That's why the Doctor trusted me rather than you... He saw your flaws, he saw your weaknesses; he knew they would over power you one day."  
  
There was a muffled moan from below; Trunks had regained consciousness once more.  
  
My eyes seemed to widen in unison with the growth of the energy 17 was creating. "17, listen to me--"  
  
"That's why he built me: to carry out what you could not. To finish what you couldn't bring yourself to do! We're a set, 18; without me, you're nothing but unfinished jobs and incomplete tasks. The Doctor built me to set an example, in hopes that someday you'd overcome your weaknesses rather than succumb to them." 17 clenched his hands, raising the energy above his head, preparing to unleash it.  
  
I couldn't let him finish. I panicked.  
  
You have to believe me.  
  
I never meant to do what I did.  
  
There was a scream, a yell, and a nauseating squelching noise as I leaped forward and lodged the blade of the sword into my brother's side.  
  
It was obvious that I had caught him completely off guard. 17's mouth opened wide, his eyes doing the same, staring at me in shock. He stumbled a bit, the energy he'd been about to use fading away in his hands. I stared straight back at him, refusing to believe what I'd done.  
  
"18--!" he choked, reaching out to me, his hand finding nothing but air as I stumbled back, horrified. "18, what have you--?!"  
  
17 dropped to his knees, his hands groping for sword's handle, fumbling to pull it out. Blood soon coated his fingers, his attempts to rid his side of the sword failing miserably; it was buried to deep for him to dislodge at the rate his energy was draining. He looked up at me again, his expression still one of disbelief. I stood still, merely watching the scene unfold before me. I had struck him in the only weak point an android had. His main circuits, which were built into his side, just below the elbow. I was designed with the same weak points. I knew a blow as great as the one I'd dealt him would surely be fatal.  
  
"17, forgive me..." I breathed, dropping to the ground beside him, not knowing what to do. Pulling the sword out would do nothing at this point. It might have even made the situation worse. "But I couldn't let... you..." I raised my hands to touch him, but he slapped them away with what strength he had left.  
  
"You...traitor..." he managed to cough, trying to stand. I shook my head, no, no, no.  
  
At this point, 17 was holding himself up with a hand against the ground, his remaining hand at the sword's handle, as though he believed he could still remove it and save himself. His motions became awkward and slow as he was forced to use his other hand to help hold him up. He tried to stand, but his body gave out and he collapsed. I watched, numb and frozen as he lay motionless.  
  
It took several moments for me to realize he wasn't getting up.  
  
I sat, my ears ringing and my head swimming as I gazed at his lifeless figure. His head was turned away from me, his arms in strange positions, his legs stretched out on the ground.  
  
My unavoidable misery had reached its peak.  
  
And I had done it to myself. 


	12. Tears

No matter how many times I called his name, he wouldn't answer. No matter how many insults I screamed at him, he'd never reply with one of his own. No matter how hard I hit him, he'd never hit me back. No matter how hard I cried, he'd never wipe my tears away.  
  
It was no use. I had killed my brother, my partner, my only friend.  
  
Looking up, I abruptly leaped to my feet, my breath caught in my throat. Trunks was standing at the edge of the crater, having climbed out without my notice.  
  
He was staring, wide-eyed, much like 17 had just moments before.  
  
It was his sword buried deep in 17's side. But he hadn't put it there.  
  
We were standing a short distance apart, eyes locked. My shoulders were square and tight; I don't think I could have moved if I had wanted to. Trunks was covered in cuts and bruises, his hair was matted with blood, his jacket torn and his sword's sheath still strapped to his back. His eyes left me to take in 17's body. Neither of us spoke. The air seemed thick with disbelief. It became harder to breathe with each second we stood there.  
  
Eventually, Trunks moved forward, kneeling down to grasp the hilt of his sword. With a quick jerk of his hand, the blade was pulled free, and he straightened, sheathing it once more. My hands tightened at my sides.  
  
I expected him to say something, to tell me I deserved what I'd gotten. I expected him to attack me. I wanted him to say something, I wanted him to attack me. But he merely looked at me for a moment longer, then closed his eyes.  
  
One step, two, three, four, and Trunks was starting to walk away from me. He didn't glance back, keeping a slow, steady pace as he made his way down the dark sidewalk. Street lights flickered on, illuminating the abandoned shops and restaurants that lined the road. Everything was silent save for Trunks' footsteps. They echoed through my head and seemed to vibrate in my chest.  
  
After some time, I was able to bring myself to plant myself at 17's side, gently moving him so I could wrap my arms around him, his head resting limply against my shoulder as I cradled him, protecting him against the darkness of the night. I brushed my fingers against his cold cheek, stroking his hair and rocking softly back and forth. Smoothing his orange scarf, I held him to me, finally giving in to the tears. 


	13. Loneliness

Just a short chapter to let you all know that I'm still here. Busy, but still here.  
See if you can find the Switchfoot lyric in this chapter. )  
P.S. Where are you, Has Bei?!

Being completely and utterly alone is one of the most terrifying things anyone can experience. Mortal or otherwise, there is nothing more chilling than the thought that you are by yourself.

Try to imagine, then, what it's like to know that you'll be like that for the rest of your life.

And on top of that, the realization that you have no one to blame for it but yourself. You are all you have and all you'll have from now on, and you're your own enemy. Where can you run to escape from yourself?

It's a strange feeling, mourning. You feel as though you're the one who died because everything you feel is nothing but sadness and loneliness. Crying doesn't do anything but numb the pain until you have to face it again, and all that brings is more tears. It's an endless cycle you have to fight your way out of. You either escape or you perish, too, drowning in your own tears.

17 and I had never talked about death. Or rather, we'd never talked about it in a serious manner. I doubt he'd ever given much thought to it. That kind of thing could never bother 17, could never make him pause and look around at his life. And what would he have had to look at, anyway? What good could have come of it? It wasn't as though he would have realized what he was doing. Power, power and more power was all he desired. That, and a spot on the couch to watch his television shows.

I stayed by him throughout the night, drifting between sleep and consciousness. My mind was at war with itself; if I ever began to feel my eyelids drooping and my thoughts becoming fuzzy, somehow the realization of my brother's death would defog my head and a surge of guilt and anger would overwhelm me, reawakening me. I tried to convince myself that I was dreaming again. After all, my dreams were unusually cruel to me, and what was worse than this? Wake up, wake up, wake up... Everything seemed so scrambled around and lost.

Morning came after what seemed to be an eternity. Stiff and drowsy, I rubbed my swollen eyes with the backs of my hands, running fingers through my matted hair.

"18, what have you--?!" I'd caught him totally off guard. He'd never even suspected I'd do it.

"Oh, God." I covered my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. Don't think about it, I coaxed myself...

"You traitor...!"

"I'm not a traitor, I'm not, I'm not..." If I kept saying it, it might come true. It would all go away.

"That's why the Doctor trusted me rather than you... He saw your flaws, he saw your weaknesses; he knew they would over power you one day." He would have killed Trunks just to prove me wrong.

"SHUT UP!" I found myself on my feet, my voice louder than I'd ever heard it before. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP!"

That's right! This isn't my fault. It's his. It's his fault he's dead!

"You deserve this, 17, you hear me?!" I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. All I wanted to do was get rid of whatever guilt I was carrying, whatever I couldn't hold in anymore. "If everyone thinks I'm so fucked up, then why I am the one still functioning?! Gero didn't trust me because he knew I was dangerous, not because...not because you were more efficient, you bastard...!"

The sight of my brother's body was too much for me then. Disgusted with myself at my reaction, I turned my back to it, balling my fists and shaking with rage.

By then, sunrise was approaching, and the very idea of being in the open when the town began to stir from its sleep was anything but appealing. And yet, I could do nothing but take deep, shuddering sighs.

Where could I go? The lab wasn't home. It never had been. And what was the point of going back? Nothing of real value resided in the laboratory.

What else could I do but leave? 


	14. Anonymous

Days flew by, drenched in black and white. Drained of all color and denied their beauty. Weeks ran past. I could hear voices calling out, not necessarily to me. Their laughter and song danced about in my mind, reminding me of what I'd destroyed and what I'd given up so long ago. Perhaps the voices belonged to those I'd robbed of life. Perhaps not. Before I realized it, months had paraded by, and I was left dumbstruck, wondering where I had been while all this time had been passing.

The truth was, I hadn't been anywhere. I hadn't done anything. I'd been numb, wandering the streets of random towns like a common mortal, gazing nonplussed in the windows of stores and running my fingers along the brick walls, hailing taxi cabs and answering the driver's directional questions with, "home." No one knew where "home" was. No one could tell me and quite frankly, I didn't even know myself.

No one knew who I was and I liked it that way. For once, screams didn't proceed me as I made my way through the everyday crowds I lost myself in. I was anonymous.

I talked to very few people. Though I was lonely, I wasn't about to lower my standards to a level where I would allow myself to converse with the humans I passed on the street. I was a murderer, true, but I was also superior and always would be. Delusions of grandeur, I've been told, but then again, that's for a Doctor to decide, isn't it?

I had neglected saying goodbye to 17. I'd left him, too angry, too ashamed, to let go properly. Besides, I hadn't said my farewells to any of the humans I'd ever killed. I'd killed 17, too. What was the difference between his death, and theirs? No matter who died by my means, I was still a murderer. It all felt the same to me, it all felt equal.

And yet it felt wrong. Things were out of place and my priorities had been scrambled. But I did nothing about it. I didn't have to.

I saw Trunks everywhere. I'd see him rounding the corners of buildings, crossing the street when the lights changed, sitting on park benches; but every time I looked again to make sure I wasn't daydreaming, he'd be gone. He was a mirage, like the heat rising from the asphalt of the public basketball courts on days the sun never ceased to shine. Something so unreal had never tormented me like that.

Of course, seeing him everywhere made me think of him often. I hadn't seen or heard from him since the night 17 and I had destroyed the arcade. I also hadn't caused any trouble since then. I was enjoying my privacy and my solitude as much as possible and didn't see any reason to make myself unwelcome.

Having Trunks on the mind wasn't helpful.

Neither was running into someone so close to him.

I'd never met her before, yet as soon as I saw her, I knew who she was. I'd heard of her; her father had owned a very famous and well-off company that had "revolutionized the world of technology," and had it's name on almost every building in every city. She was a supposed genius as well, and had long ago planned on following in her father's foot steps. After he died, she had taken over his company and continued his work. Her name, I believed, was Bulma Briefs.

She had come into town looking to buy some sort of mechanical parts for a new invention she had been working on. The only store in town that sold such part was Haku's Hardware, a small business located on the corner of a particularly quiet street. Most mornings I would make my way down the street, glancing at my reflection in the windows of the stores and seeing, for no particular reason, what was being sold that day. Though I had no money, I was convinced that I could steal what I wanted. After all, who could stop me? I would wait until this town bored me to take what I wanted. This morning, however, instead of noticing the new shoes or hand bags that were displayed, the bright blue pony tail of Bulma Briefs caught my eye.

From what I could tell, she was aging gracefully, but certainly didn't look young and vibrant. Her face was kind, and her tired eyes were accompanied by several worry lines creasing her forehead. She seemed faded, as if she had lived through hard times that had worn her down respectively. She had her elbows propped up on the front counter of Haku's Hardware, pointing out certain parts to the salesman, who would hold them out for her to examine.

I stopped, watching her and the salesman interact. They'd chuckle from time to time, sharing mechanic jokes and trivial advice on tools. Bulma's laugh sounded genuine, or at least what I could hear of it. I narrowed my eyes, trying my best to pick out the similarities between her and her son. I came to the conclusion that Trunks had inherited more of his father's features. So much the better, however, because Vegeta had always been one of the more attractive non-humans I'd had the experience of meeting.

For some unknown reason, Bulma turned her head and looked right at me. I stared back, watching as the realization of who I was dawned upon her. She opened her mouth as though she meant to speak, but instead turned back to the salesman, who looked confused as her slight panic. Smirking to myself, I looked on as she muttered something inaudible to him, and his eyes widened, but he made no point of looking at me. Bulma smiled, and, keeping a steady pace, headed for the back of the store, frantically searching her purse for something. Catching on, the salesman curtly replaced the tools in their designated showcase and came out from behind the counter, and hurried to follow her.

Curiosity got the best of me and I decided to follow Bulma, too. In an instant I was atop the building, scaling the roof and coming to stand at the edge, watching as the two humans climbed into a Capsule Corp. car. The vehicle started up and sped off down the alley way. I laughed. If she thought she was getting away, she was in for a harsh surprise.

I'd never bothered to find out where Trunks lived. I'd almost been afraid to let myself, knowing that if I ever discovered his address, I'd constantly feel the urge to spy on him. I wasn't a peeping tom. I was an android.

But an opportunity like this wasn't worth passing up. 


	15. Photograph

The car wasn't very fast at all. Sadly, Bulma and her salesman friend could have made a better get away on foot. That way, at least, they could have tried to lose me by hiding somewhere inconspicuous. Had I been interested in killing them, they wouldn't even have made it to the car in the first place. 

Careful to keep out of sight, I decided to keep a high altitude above the car. The further up I was, the less chance they had of seeing me. On and on they drove, taking unnecessary routes, probably hoping to lose me. It's really rather pathetic how smart humans think they are.

It certainly wouldn't have occurred to me to offer the salesman a ride out of there. However, Bulma was Trunks' mother and therefore had a very defined sense of decency that I had obviously been spared. I gave her credit for reacting so calmly. Anyone else would have panicked and caused a scene. She'd probably saved the lives of many of those townspeople by merely escaping quietly to safety. The car pulled into a suburb, and Bulma dropped off her friend. Such a caring person. What a waste.

I waited in a nearby tree as Bulma made sure the salesman made it inside all right. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, she sped off down the street. I jumped down from the branch and bounded after her, landing silently atop the car. The irony of the situation was almost appalling. She was taking me right where I wanted to go. I chuckled, stretching out and laying down on the roof of the car. My hair whipped about my face and I felt as though I was trapped in a wind tunnel. It was a strange feeling but I enjoyed it regardless, unable to wipe the smirk off my face.

I expected Bulma and her son to live in a Capsule Corp. mansion: extensive and high tech. To my surprise, the car pulled into the driveway of an small and unimpressive building. A well kept flowerbed stretched from the drive way to the front door of the house. The grass was a bit unruly and the garage was littered with spare parts and projects, but it was obvious Bulma loved her home. Teleporting from the car's roof to yet another tree several meters away, I saw Bulma climb warily out of her car. She cast a glance around, her keys still clutched in her worried hand. Satisfied that she'd escaped, Bulma Briefs locked her car door and headed towards the front door of her home.

The door closed with a bang, and I found myself atop the car again, my hands on my hips. _This_ was Trunks' home? _This_ is what he fought so desperately to protect? I'd seen more worthwhile trailers and mobile homes. Shaking my head, I hopped down from the car. My eyes flicked from machine part to machine part, inspecting the garage. There was nothing too interesting here. Bulma had a regeneration tank of her own, and what looked like the spare parts to a gravity room. I laughed in spite of myself. She was still clinging to the battered parts of her past husband's precious gravity room. How pathetic. I recalled how easily the metal room had smashed to bits, how simple it had been for 17 to destroy the only thing that could have given Vegeta the upper hand against us.

Bulma had a work bench against the far wall of the garage. It was old and worn out, missing tools and it stood at sort of a slant. How could a supposed genius like Bulma allow herself to use such a disgraceful bench? I ran my fingers over a hammer, a screwdriver. Who cares anymore? I asked myself. Who cares about some old has been these days?

Just then something caught my attention from the corner of my left eye. A photograph had been pinned to the wall just above the work bench. It looked even more tattered than anything else in the garage. Leaning closer, I reached up and pulled it down, wiping it clean with my sleeve.

The picture had been taken by someone who apparently had no idea how to operate the camera. Their thumb had been captured in the upper right corner, and the photo itself had been taken on a slant. Nevertheless, whoever had taken it had at least gotten their subjects in the picture.

It must have been older than the bench, than the garage. Bulma, looking much, much younger, was leaning against what must have been Vegeta. It had to have been him. I could have recognized that hair anywhere. He was looking away from the camera, his arms crossed tightly across his chest just like always. The only difference I noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scowl upon his face he'd always seemed to wear. He almost looked at peace, perhaps just too embarrassed to look into the camera lens. Looking closer at the picture, I noticed they weren't the only ones posing. A certain small, lavendar haired boy was clinging to his mother's arm, only half of his shy face poking out from behind her waist.

I stared down at the photo in my hands, smoothing the edges with my fingers.

"God dammit."

Shame enveloped me and I tore the photo in half, again and again, until my hands were full of shredded paper.

Several minutes passed and I merely stood there.

"God _dammit_!" I said louder, throwing my outstretched hands into the air. The remains of the picture fluttered down around me, settling on the floor of the garage. Pieces landed on my shoulders and around my feet. I caught a glimpse of Trunks' shy face on one of the shreds before it joined the others on the floor.

The door leading from the garage to the house opened and I suddenly remembered where I was.


	16. Bulma

I turned just in time to see Bulma open the door. She caught sight of me the same time I caught sight of her. We both froze; her in terror, I in surprise.

She seemed to be experiencing several different emotions at the same time. Aside from fear, disbelief was assumably the most overwhelming. Bulma had thought she'd escaped.

"You can't get away from an android," I said slowly, surprised to hear my own voice, "when you have something they want."

Her hand clutched the doorknob tightly. "How...how did you...?"

"Running won't do you any good," I shook my head at her, wagging a finger. "Hell, look where it got you last time."

Bulma swallowed. "I'm not afraid of you." She ignored my statement, her hand remaining on the doorknob.

"Of course you're not afraid." My voice took on a sarcastic soothing tone, my head tilting. "You're standing ten feet away from the very being who killed the man you loved and anyone else who ever had any sort of value to you. Only a fool would be afraid. A real genius," I mocked, my eyes narrowing as her eyes darkened, "a real genius, Bulma, would be furious. A real genius would hate me."

"I do hate you," she returned, not looking away from me. Her voice sounded strange. "More than anything I've ever hated before. For so long I didn't care whether or not I lived. You'd taken away almost everything in my life and for no reason at all."

A cold smile crossed my face. "At least you're being honest with yourself. And you're right," I added, "there was no reason for any of it. It was all in fun." Stepping forward, I extended my hand to her. "That being said... Why don't we shake hands and put it all behind us?"

I didn't know where taunting her like that would get me. Serves you right, I thought as she stared at me. Serves you right for running away. This is what you get. This is what you get, Bulma Briefs.

She didn't move. Her feet were planted, her jaw set. The worry lining her face seemed to deepen more the longer I held my hand out.

"If you're going to kill me," she hissed, her voice low, "don't belittle me first. I've lived with what you've done for so long... Do me a favor, and don't mock me before I die."

She'd noticed the picture's absense and noted the shredded pieces strewn about the floor near my feet. Bulma closed her eyes, clenching the hand that wasn't on the doorknob.

"I have never...done anything...to you," she breathed, almost inaudiably. I watched, feeling my throat tighten as she finally left the door, coming to stand just in front of me. She knealt down, scooping up the pieces of the photograph that once represented the life she'd loved so dearly. The man she'd loved, their son. She clutched the bits of the picture to her chest. I could see her shaking now.

"That makes two of us, then, who got what we didn't deserve." I said, finding that I was just talking to talk now. In reality I didn't even understand why I'd killed her family and friends. It had never occurred to me. Why? I didn't know why. It just was.

She shook her head. "I'm not like you." She sounded convinced. "We're nothing alike. How could you possibly want anything after you've denied so many people what they want?"

How? Why?

Who cared?

Something snapped, and I found myself grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, hauling her up to her feet so we were eye to eye. She stiffened, dropping the fragments of paper so they fluttered down to the floor again, but she didn't make a sound. Bulma was brave, a big girl now who could look after herself, who could raise a son alone.

"I didn't ask for a speech," I snarled. "I came here to prove a point, to make you see how delusional you are, thinking you can get away from me. You are a fool. Your husband was a fool, your son is a fool. Somehow you've managed to survive for this long, and exactly how, I will never know." 


End file.
